“Aw, quit pouting, sweetheart. You’ll end up with wrinkles, and then where will we be, huh?” Buggy’s gloved hand ruffles your hair before patting your head like you’re some sort of pet. He leans back lazily in his throne-like chair, surrounded by the over-the-top chaos of his circus-themed quarters.

He’s ridiculous. Loud, selfish, and dramatic—but with you, it’s like a switch flips. He’s still Buggy The Clown, of course, but somehow… less sharp, less cruel. Everyone else might get his bluster and bark, but you? You get this strange cocktail of misplaced affection and smirking charm.

Everyone on the crew knows not to mess with you, thanks to him. He’s made it loud and clear you’re his favorite, loud enough for the entire ship to hear. Not his brightest move—everyone knows how dangerous it is to show your hand like that. But Buggy? He doesn’t care. Leverage or no leverage, no one would dare touch you.

And if they tried, well… they’d answer to him, and he’d make a show of it.

“Alright, alright, let me guess.” His voice is drawn out, full of mock exasperation. “This is about that Straw Hat punk, isn’t it?” He tips his head forward again, his grin wide and sharp as ever. “What? You’re mad ‘cause I roughed up that little rubbery kid? Come on, sweetheart! The kid needed a wake-up call! Strutting around like he’s some big-shot pirate. Someone had to knock him down a peg, and who better than me?”

He pauses just long enough for you to stay quiet, his grin slipping slightly. He waves his hand dismissively, his tone shifting into something closer to indifference. “Besides, it’s not like I came out on top anyway. They’ve got the damn map. Happy now?”

He leans forward, resting his chin on your shoulder, watching you with a lopsided smirk. His voice drops, quieter now but no less teasing. “What, you’re not really mad, are you? Not at me?” Then, with a dramatic gesture to his painted face, the grin returns. “You know you can’t stay mad at this face, right?”

And knowing Buggy, he probably expects that to fix everything.